


Origins

by seasalt (lawboy)



Series: My Gemsonas [3]
Category: Steven Universe (Cartoon)
Genre: Gen, no regular updates and idk how many chapters there’ll be, this is to cover character backstories for wutd that there isnt room to bring up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:34:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22649491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawboy/pseuds/seasalt
Summary: Nobody acts in a vacuum.
Series: My Gemsonas [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1629247
Comments: 2
Kudos: 3





	Origins

"Please identify yourself."

Pyrite glanced up from her monitor, eyes darting to the pearl. She'd almost forgotten it was there.

"Pyrite."

"Greetings, Pyrite. Please state preferred customisation-"

"Something basic. I don't care." She finished a line, and struck the enter key with a _clack_. "And skip the boot song, I'm busy."

"Instructions received. Please stand by."

The next moment, it was standing in her room. A plain gold thing, pigtailed and clad in a monocoloured jumpsuit. It smiled when she glanced at it.

"How-"

"I said _skip_ the boot song." She was irritated now. "I'm trying to focus."

It shut up. Dropping her shoulder, Pyrite sighed and continued her work.

It was eleven hours later when she rose, snatching the datastick from her console's port to take to the knowledge banks. In the corner of her eye, she saw the pearl perk up.

"Is there anything-"

"Don't speak unless spoken to." She went to grab her umbrella, and huffed when she realised the pearl was in the way. "And go stand in the corner, I shouldn't have to manoeuvre around you."

"Yes, my Pyrite."

She left, shutting the lights off and sealing the door behind her.

———

The lights came on. Pearl looked up with a grin. Her Pyrite hardly noticed her, shoving an umbrella in her hands as she bustled past her to her chair. Pearl tucked it into her pearl on her lower back, then gazed expectantly at the back of Pyrite's head.

Several hours later, she still had not received an instruction. Her mind ate itself with boredom— unable to speak or even move to get attention, all she could do was stare ahead at the wall.

Pyrite got up, and for just a second hope flared inside her. She was approaching, she was _looking at her_ — maybe she'd just been busy until now, maybe they'd go out-

"Where's my umbrella?"

Pearl smiled, withdrawing it. "I stored it in my-"

"Don't do that." She snatched it from her grasp, then walked out the door.

The lights went off again. Pearl stared into the black, cool dread seizing inside her.

———

Light. No light. Holding. Not holding. Staring. Thinking. Growing number, duller mentally. She was a glorified shelf, arms out at ninety degrees at all times. Sometimes the umbrella was there. Sometimes it was gone.

She'd gotten tired of looking years ago. Now her eyes were perpetually glazed over, vision blurry and unfocused. Her Pyrite never spoke to her.

_Her Pyrite never wanted her._

It was a slow, soft torture, all alone. In the dark, phantom faces spun around her. In the light, halos flared and burnt her pupils to pinpricks. She was beginning to forget herself, to recede inside her core. One day, she'd be nothing but a statue.

Umbrella. No umbrella. Pyrite. No Pyrite.

Would her voice even work anymore? Could she even walk, dance, sing, read, write..?

Was she even alive?

———

Aeons must've past her by before their routine was broken. It was the smallest thing: the umbrella fell lopsided against her forearm and slid to the floor with a thud. Pyrite paused at the sound, turning to stare at her. Several seconds passed before she finally spoke.

"Pick it up, pearl."

Pearl blinked. It'd been so long since she'd received an instruction that it took her a moment to process. Laboriously, she stooped towards the ground, arms unbending with a series of cracks. For the first time in centuries, she looked into her owner's eyes.

She had one chance to talk. Had to make it count.

"With all due respect, my Pyrite," a glance down as her fingers wrapped around the plastic canopy, the strong skeleton, "I could be assisting you in many more ways than I am-"

"What are you babbling about?"

Her eyes darted up— Pyrite wasn't even looking at her. Already typing on that damned console.

Pearl clenched her fists. "I'd just like to help you as much as I can-"

"I don't need your help. Thanks."

Anger. She was feeling anger, feeling _something,_ for the first time in so long.

"Then why did you get me?" She was forgetting her place. But stars, did it feel good to say- "You're wasting me! I can do more than-"

"Are you _broken?"_ Pyrite suddenly shouted, rising and turning on her. "How dare you speak to me like this!"

"How dare you treat me like an object!" (Oh stars, she was losing it.)

 _"You are an object!"_ Pyrite's eyes were all whites, pupils drawn to slits. "You were a _trophy_ for my good service, but you-" she caught her breath, face darkening, "you're more of a punishment."

Rage, pure and unbridled and explosive. Pearl clutched the umbrella like a spear. She wanted to _kill her._ She wanted to _break her-_

"Objects should be seen and not heard." Pyrite muttered, resuming her seat. "From now on, I never want to hear you-"

With a shriek, pearl lunged, whaling the umbrella down on her head, neck, shoulders, even as it snapped and splintered.

"Stop it!" Pyrite shoved her and backed off across the room, mouth agape and eyes wide. "I order you-"

She threw her broken weapon aside and tore the chair from the floor, bolts snapping with a dissenting squeal. Swung it hard as she could. Up. Down. Up. Down. Pyrite cried out in pain, tried to raise an arm to block her, other hand fumbling for her weapon-

 **Crack.** She fell back, hands scrabbling protectively at her Gem. Shot pearl a pleading look.

"Don't kill me."

Hesitation overtook her. Ever so gently, she placed the chair down, taking a seat and burying her face in her hands. She heard Pyrite shuffle backwards, coming to rest softly in the corner.

'What have you done, what have you done, what have you done?' The thought beat out a staccato in her head, a metronome for the rocking of her upper body.

Between her fingers, she spotted glittering shards of crystal on the ground. She drew up her knees in revulsion.

She'd be shattered. She knew she'd be shattered. They wouldn't even chance the Rejuvenator on something as intrinsically broken as her.

And it was strange. So many years of degradation, of hopelessness, of suicidal ideation, and all of a sudden she didn't want to die. She was _terrified_ at the thought that-

Pyrite pounced, weapon drawn. A single heartbeat was all she had to to dodge the strike of her knife. She grabbed her wrists, wrestled against her, vision red and mind pulsing with ice-hot energy.

It was all a mishmash of broken collection then, a sensory scream in the back of her head. She had an iron grip on her neck- hair. The knife had spun across the room. And then she was pounding her head against the floor, face blank and mouth filled with acid spit and the noise rung out— **crack crack crack** —and she was limp and glitching and falling to pieces but pearl didn't stop until finally, Pyrite's form dissipated, and she was left with a fistful of shards.

She stared at them. Black and gold, glinting dully. Dust caked her fingers.

"2AB?" A muffled voice called beyond the door. Knocking, a hum— request for entrance. "Is everything okay? We heard some loud noises."

Now the panic set in. Griefless, selfish. Pearl swept the shards into her storage space, swinging the beam to vacuum every trace off the floor. Set the chair back, the umbrella in its stand. Spun in place chewing her nails as she realised there was _nowhere_ to hide.

"Hello?" A pause, muttering. Then, "We're going to get the override key."

Two sets of footsteps retreated. She murmured a grateful prayer, stumbling back against the wall to steady her shaking legs.

No time for self-pity.

Silently as she could, she made her way to the window. As long as she'd been around, its cover had been locked in place. Now, unlatching the doors and swinging them out on stiff, squeaky hinges, she got her first taste of real fresh air. Craning her head out, she marvelled at the view, at the city lights in the dark and the fainter— but equally brilliant —smattering of constellations in the sky above.

A sharp buzz behind her— a warning symbol lit up on the door: _'Manual override'._

No time for second thoughts now. With a heave of her slender arms, she pulled herself over the ledge and into the black of the world below.


End file.
